"We're at close grips at last," said Holmes as we walked together
across the moor. "What a nerve the fellow has! How he pulled
himself together in the face of what must have been a paralyzing
shock when he found that the wrong man had fallen a victim to his
plot. I told you in London, Watson, and I tell you now again,
that we have never had a foeman more worthy of our steel."

"What effect do you think it will have upon his plans now that
he knows you are here?"

"It may cause him to be more cautious, or it may drive him to
desperate measures at once. Like most clever criminals, he may
be too confident in his own cleverness and imagine that he has
completely deceived us."

"My dear Watson, you were born to be a man of action. Your
instinct is always to do something energetic. But supposing,
for argument's sake, that we had him arrested tonight, what on
earth the better off should we be for that? We could prove
nothing against him. There's the devilish cunning of it! If he
were acting through a human agent we could get some evidence,
but if we were to drag this great dog to the light of day it would
not help us in putting a rope round the neck of its master."

"Found dead without a mark upon him. You and I know that he died
of sheer fright, and we know also what frightened him but how are
we to get twelve stolid jurymen to know it? What signs are there
of a hound? Where are the marks of its fangs? Of course we know
that a hound does not bite a dead body and that Sir Charles was
dead before ever the brute overtook him. But we have to prove
all this, and we are not in a position to do it."

"We are not much better off tonight. Again, there was no direct
connection between the hound and the man's death. We never saw
the hound. We heard it, but we could not prove that it was
running upon this man's trail. There is a complete absence of
motive. No, my dear fellow; we must reconcile ourselves to the
fact that we have no case at present, and that it is worth our
while to run any risk in order to establish one."

"I have great hopes of what Mrs. Laura Lyons may do for us when
the position of affairs is made clear to her. And I have my own
plan as well. Sufficient for tomorrow is the evil thereof; but
I hope before the day is past to have the upper hand at last."

I could draw nothing further from him, and he walked, lost in
thought, as far as the Baskerville gates.

"Yes; I see no reason for further concealment. But one last
word, Watson. Say nothing of the hound to Sir Henry. Let him
think that Selden's death was as Stapleton would have us believe.
He will have a better nerve for the ordeal which he will have to
undergo tomorrow, when he is engaged, if I remember your report
aright, to dine with these people."

"Then you must excuse yourself and he must go alone. That will
be easily arranged. And now, if we are too late for dinner, I
think that we are both ready for our suppers."

Sir Henry was more pleased than surprised to see Sherlock Holmes,
for he had for some days been expecting that recent events would
bring him down from London. He did raise his eyebrows, however,
when he found that my friend had neither any luggage nor any
explanations for its absence. Between us we soon supplied his
wants, and then over a belated supper we explained to the baronet
as much of our experience as it seemed desirable that he should
know. But first I had the unpleasant duty of breaking the news
to Barrymore and his wife. To him it may have been an unmitigated
relief, but she wept bitterly in her apron. To all the world he
was the man of violence, half animal and half demon; but to her
he always remained the little wilful boy of her own girlhood, the
child who had clung to her hand. Evil indeed is the man who has
not one woman to mourn him.

"I've been moping in the house all day since Watson went off in
the morning," said the baronet. "I guess I should have some
credit, for I have kept my promise. If I hadn't sworn not to go
about alone I might have had a more lively evening, for I had a
message from Stapleton asking me over there."

"I have no doubt that you would have had a more lively evening,"
said Holmes drily. "By the way, I don't suppose you appreciate
that we have been mourning over you as having broken your neck?"

"This poor wretch was dressed in your clothes. I fear your servant
who gave them to him may get into trouble with the police."

"That is unlikely. There was no mark on any of them, as far as
I know."

"That's lucky for him--in fact, it's lucky for all of you, since
you are all on the wrong side of the law in this matter. I am
not sure that as a conscientious detective my first duty is not
to arrest the whole household. Watson's reports are most
incriminating documents."

"But how about the case?" asked the baronet. "Have you made
anything out of the tangle? I don't know that Watson and I are
much the wiser since we came down."

"I think that I shall be in a position to make the situation rather
more clear to you before long. It has been an exceedingly difficult
and most complicated business. There are several points upon which
we still want light--but it is coming all the same."

"We've had one experience, as Watson has no doubt told you. We
heard the hound on the moor, so I can swear that it is not all
empty superstition. I had something to do with dogs when I was
out West, and I know one when I hear one. If you can muzzle that
one and put him on a chain I'll be ready to swear you are the
greatest detective of all time."

"I think I will muzzle him and chain him all right if you will
give me your help."

"If you will do this I think the chances are that our little
problem will soon be solved. I have no doubt "

He stopped suddenly and stared fixedly up over my head into the
air. The lamp beat upon his face, and so intent was it and so
still that it might have been that of a clear-cut classical statue,
a personification of alertness and expectation.

I could see as he looked down that he was repressing some internal
emotion. His features were still composed, but his eyes shone with
amused exultation.

"Excuse the admiration of a connoisseur," said he as he waved
his hand towards the line of portraits which covered the opposite
wall. "Watson won't allow that I know anything of art but that
is mere jealousy because our views upon the subject differ. Now,
these are a really very fine series of portraits."

"Well, I'm glad to hear you say so," said Sir Henry, glancing
with some surprise at my friend. "I don't pretend to know much
about these things, and I'd be a better judge of a horse or a
steer than of a picture. I didn't know that you found time for
such things."

"I know what is good when I see it, and I see it now. That's a
Kneller, I'll swear, that lady in the blue silk over yonder, and
the stout gentleman with the wig ought to be a Reynolds. They
are all family portraits, I presume?"

"That is Rear-Admiral Baskerville, who served under Rodney in the
West Indies. The man with the blue coat and the roll of paper
is Sir William Baskerville, who was Chairman of Committees of the
House of Commons under Pitt."

"And this Cavalier opposite to me--the one with the black velvet
and the lace?"

"Ah, you have a right to know about him. That is the cause of
all the mischief, the wicked Hugo, who started the Hound of the
Baskervilles. We're not likely to forget him."

"Dear me!" said Holmes, "he seems a quiet, meek-mannered man
enough, but I dare say that there was a lurking devil in his eyes.
I had pictured him as a more robust and ruffianly person."

"There's no doubt about the authenticity, for the name and the
date, 1647, are on the back of the canvas."

Holmes said little more, but the picture of the old roysterer
seemed to have a fascination for him, and his eyes were continually
fixed upon it during supper. It was not until later, when Sir
Henry had gone to his room, that I was able to follow the trend
of his thoughts. He led me back into the banqueting-hall, his
bedroom candle in his hand, and he held it up against the time-
stained portrait on the wall.

I looked at the broad plumed hat, the curling love-locks, the
white lace collar, and the straight, severe face which was framed
between them. It was not a brutal countenance, but it was prim
hard, and stern, with a firm-set, thin-lipped mouth, and a coldly
intolerant eye.

"Yes, it is an interesting instance of a throwback, which appears
to be both physical and spiritual. A study of family portraits
is enough to convert a man to the doctrine of reincarnation. The
fellow is a Baskerville--that is evident."

"Exactly. This chance of the picture has supplied us with one of
our most obvious missing links. We have him, Watson, we have him,
and I dare swear that before tomorrow night he will be fluttering
in our net as helpless as one of his own butterflies. A pin, a
cork, and a card, and we add him to the Baker Street collection!"
He burst into one of his rare fits of laughter as he turned away
from the picture. I have not heard him laugh often, and it has
always boded ill to somebody.

I was up betimes in the morning, but Holmes was afoot earlier
still, for I saw him as I dressed, coming up the drive.

"Yes, we should have a full day today," he remarked, and he rubbed
his hands with the joy of action. "The nets are all in place,
and the drag is about to begin. We'll know before the day is out
whether we have caught our big, leanjawed pike, or whether he
has got through the meshes."

"I have sent a report from Grimpen to Princetown as to the death
of Selden. I think I can promise that none of you will be troubled
in the matter. And I have also communicated with my faithful
Cartwright, who would certainly have pined away at the door of
my hut, as a dog does at his master's grave, if I had not set
his mind at rest about my safety."

"I hoped that you were going to see me through this business.
The Hall and the moor are not very pleasant places when one is
alone."

"My dear fellow, you must trust me implicitly and do exactly what
I tell you. You can tell your friends that we should have been
happy to have come with you, but that urgent business required
us to be in town. We hope very soon to return to Devonshire.
Will you remember to give them that message?"

"Immediately after breakfast. We will drive in to Coombe Tracey,
but Watson will leave his things as a pledge that he will come
back to you. Watson, you will send a note to Stapleton to tell
him that you regret that you cannot come."

"I have a good mind to go to London with you," said the baronet.
"Why should I stay here alone?"

"Because it is your post of duty. Because you gave me your word
that you would do as you were told, and I tell you to stay."

"Very good. I should be glad to get away as soon after breakfast
as possible, so as to reach London in the afternoon."

I was much astounded by this programme, though I remembered that
Holmes had said to Stapleton on the night before that his visit
would terminate next day. It had not crossed my mind however,
that he would wish me to go with him, nor could I understand how
we could both be absent at a moment which he himself declared to
be critical. There was nothing for it, however, but implicit
obedience; so we bade good-bye to our rueful friend, and a couple
of hours afterwards we were at the station of Coombe Tracey and
had dispatched the trap upon its return journey. A small boy was
waiting upon the platform.

"You will take this train to town, Cartwright. The moment you
arrive you will send a wire to Sir Henry Baskerville, in my name,
to say that if he finds the pocketbook which I have dropped he
is to send it by registered post to Baker Street."

"That is in answer to mine of this morning. He is the best of
the professionals, I think, and we may need his assistance. Now,
Watson, I think that we cannot employ our time better than by
calling upon your acquaintance, Mrs. Laura Lyons."

His plan of campaign was beginning to be evident. He would use
the baronet in order to convince the Stapletons that we were really
gone, while we should actually return at the instant when we were
likely to be needed. That telegram from London, if mentioned by
Sir Henry to the Stapletons, must remove the last suspicions from
their minds. Already I seemed to see our nets drawing closer
around that leanjawed pike.

Mrs. Laura Lyons was in her office, and Sherlock Holmes opened
his interview with a frankness and directness which considerably
amazed her.

"I am investigating the circumstances which attended the death
of the late Sir Charles Baskerville," said he. "My friend here,
Dr. Watson, has informed me of what you have communicated, and
also of what you have withheld in connection with that matter."

"In that case the coincidence must indeed be an extraordinary one.
But I think that we shall succeed in establishing a connection,
after all. I wish to be perfectly frank with you, Mrs. Lyons.
We regard this case as one of murder, and the evidence may implicate
not only your friend Mr. Stapleton but his wife as well."

"I have come prepared to do so," said Holmes, drawing several papers
from his pocket. "Here is a photograph of the couple taken in
York four years ago. It is indorsed 'Mr. and Mrs. Vandeleur,'
but you will have no difficulty in recognizing him, and her also,
if you know her by sight. Here are three written descriptions
by trustworthy witnesses of Mr. and Mrs. Vandeleur, who at that
time kept St. Oliver's private school. Read them and see if you
can doubt the identity of these people."

She glanced at them, and then looked up at us with the set rigid
face of a desperate woman.

"Mr. Holmes," she said, "this man had offered me marriage on
condition that I could get a divorce from my husband. He has
lied to me, the villain, in every conceivable way. Not one word
of truth has he ever told me. And why--why? I imagined that all
was for my own sake. But now I see that I was never anything
but a tool in his hands. Why should I preserve faith with him
who never kept any with me? Why should I try to shield him from
the consequences of his own wicked acts? Ask me what you like,
and there is nothing which I shall hold back. One thing I swear
to you, and that is that when I wrote the letter I never dreamed
of any harm to the old gentleman, who had been my kindest friend."

"I entirely believe you, madam," said Sherlock Holmes. "The
recital of these events must be very painful to you, and perhaps
it will make it easier if I tell you what occurred, and you can
check me if I make any material mistake. The sending of this
letter was suggested to you by Stapleton?"

"And then after you had sent the letter he dissuaded you from
keeping the appointment?"

"He told me that it would hurt his self-respect that any other
man should find the money for such an object, and that though
he was a poor man himself he would devote his last penny to
removing the obstacles which divided us."

"He appears to be a very consistent character. And then you heard
nothing until you read the reports of the death in the paper?"

"I knew him," she said. "But if he had kept faith with me I should
always have done so with him."

"I think that on the whole you have had a fortunate escape," said
Sherlock Holmes. "You have had him in your power and he knew it,
and yet you are alive. You have been walking for some months very
near to the edge of a precipice. We must wish you good-morning
now, Mrs. Lyons, and it is probable that you will very shortly
hear from us again."

"Our case becomes rounded off, and difficulty after difficulty
thins away in front of us," said Holmes as we stood waiting for
the arrival of the express from town. "I shall soon be in the
position of being able to put into a single connected narrative
one of the most singular and sensational crimes of modern times.
Students of criminology will remember the analogous incidents in
Godno, in Little Russia, in the year '66, and of course there are
the Anderson murders in North Carolina, but this case possesses
some features which are entirely its own. Even now we have no
clear case against this very wily man. But I shall be very much
surprised if it is not clear enough before we go to bed this night."

The London express came roaring into the station, and a small,
wiry bulldog of a man had sprung from a first-class carriage.
We all three shook hands, and I saw at once from the reverential
way in which Lestrade gazed at my companion that he had learned
a good deal since the days when they had first worked together.
I could well remember the scorn which the theories of the reasoner
used then to excite in the practical man.

"The biggest thing for years," said Holmes. "We have two hours
before we need think of starting. I think we might employ it in
getting some dinner and then, Lestrade, we will take the London
fog out of your throat by giving you a breath of the pure night
air of Dartmoor. Never been there? Ah, well, I don't suppose
you will forget your first visit."